N Is for What Do You Call Him?
by campylobacter
Summary: No one on Cam's team calls him 'sir', but that's their saving grace. Written for Cam Alphabet Soup on 30 January 2012 Gen Fic Day hosted by sg fignewton on LiveJournal.


"Spearhead member, I did not copy your last." Reynolds moans and sets down his radio. "Can't get a twenty on any of my team through this EM interference. And when I _can_ pick up anything, everyone sounds like a prepubescent robot low on batteries."

"Lemme give it a shot." Cam adjusts his earpiece and thumbs on his radio. "Sierra Golf Uno, this is your leader. Report."

Leave it to the OCD types to twitch whenever he bends protocol. Colonel Reynolds isn't that type, but SG-1 hadn't been apprised of the whole Spearhead Leader-Spearhead One-Two-Three protocol before backup arrived.

_(Something) Cam, can't disable (something something) worse (something something) over._ Even through the static and distortion he can tell whose voice it is; she's the only one who usually calls him Cam.

"Sam, advise you hold tight and we'll send Sierra Golf Three. Repeat, hold tight, sending backup. Over."

_I copy that, Cam._

"Colonel Carter's stationed here," Cam points to a meander in the river on the hasty map printout from the UAV.

Reynolds nods and clicks on his radio. "Spearhead One, eighty-six the northwest route and head south for the cliff overhang. Repeat, cancel northwest route, head south..."

_(Something something) ambush (something) cluster(something) some help, Mitchell. _The voice is deep and slow, like it's being delayed by a black hole, but with weird, fast whines on random syllables. Yet only one SG-1 member calls him the same thing General O'Neill calls him.

"Jackson's in trouble." Cam shakes his head; he thought he'd stationed the archaeologist at the safest vantage point. "T-man, you got a clear line on Jackson's hostiles?"

_Cameron (something) Muscles hostage (something something something) half klick downstream._

No mistaking who transmitted that. "Princess, what's your twe—"

_Samantha and I (something) going sniping (something something) silent. Over and out._

"Jackson was checking out some crazy totem pole thing on the east bank, while Vala was keeping watch thirty meters north of him. If she and Jackson confirm that Teal'c was taken hostage in an ambush around here," he says, his finger pointing to a small sand bar on the map, "you and I can head off his captors in ten, maybe five minutes just south of the oxbow lake."

"We might even beat Captain Gonzales on the opposite bank," Reynolds chuckles, standing and checking the cartridge of his P90. "If we haul ass."

* * *

><p>They hear gunfire about a hundred meters before they reach the doughnut-shaped lake, and curse the underbrush for slowing them down. Cam also curses the pin in his leg. "Don't wait up for me," he gasps as he slows to a limp, waiting to ride out the cramp before sprinting again. Reynolds nods and pushes onward. The forest, although sparse and mostly trash pine, has enough brambles to hide several platoons of snakes and boars. Gunfire must've scared them off. Cam takes a deep breath and jogs on.<p>

When he arrives, he feels like he's unforgivably late to a funeral. Gonzales presses a bandage soaked in blood to Lieutenant Singh's neck, while Vala and one of Reynolds' Marines are holding five surly female warriors at gunpoint. Two of the warriors lie bleeding on the river shore as Reynolds kicks away their knives and axes. Teal'c's lying on the silt, soaking wet. Sam's giving him chest compressions while Jackson blows air into his mouth.

"Aw damn, Teal'c." He doesn't want to see this, but he can't look away, which is just as well, or he'd have missed seeing the Jaffa suddenly gasping and coughing up water.

Sam bites back a sob of relief. Jackson slumps and tosses away a chunk of severed, thick rope. There's more of the same coiled around Teal'c's ankles. Cam approaches, and with his knife cuts free the rest of the bonds.

"I'm a day late and a dollar short, but I sure am glad to see you, brother."

Teal'c's in no condition to reply.

Jackson however, is ― and winks at Sam. "Mitchell is never going to be a favorite colonel of mine, but I love to see his enthusiasm."

Well, at least he's stopped calling him New Guy.


End file.
